“How dare you!”
A furious Gormsen stepped forward. The blood had rushed to his head and he acted without thinking. Felicia turned sharply toward him and asked,
“Are you next?”
Under Felicia’s icy gaze, Gormsen shuddered.
He instinctively knew that if he drew a weapon right there, his head would fall. Even so, ashamed of his own behavior but unable to let it pass, he shouted loudly.
“Using magic in a sacred duel… how dare you!”
“Magic?”
“Chief! We must immediately punish this woman and her lord for profaning the duel! I beg you to make a decision!”
Felicia tilted her head, as if she did not understand what they were talking about.
Magic? She, who did not even know the principles of magic—what were they talking about?
However, the other members of the tribe seemed to understand at once and nodded.
“Magic! Yes, it was magic.”
“Of course… if it weren’t magic, how could she…?”
“It felt strange to me—now I get it.”
“Silence.”
With a single word from Ivar, the murmurs were cut off abruptly. In the silence that followed, Ivar looked at Felicia and spoke.
“Woman, do you have anything to say in your defense?”
“Defense?”
“You used magic in a sacred duel and mocked a warrior. It is a grave crime. Not only you, but even your master will not be able to avoid punishment.”
Felicia did not answer. Instead, she formed a strange smile and raised her sword.
When Ivar sharpened his gaze, thinking she was about to use magic, a bluish radiance began to envelop Felicia’s blade.
“By the heavens! That’s the dragon’s blessing!”
“That glow… it’s far too intense!”
Seeing the clearly visible energy, the members of the tribe burst into astonished exclamations.
Even the most capable warriors could barely manifest a faint glimmer, yet a woman was radiating such a pure light.
And Felicia did not stop there. She continued drawing out power without pause.
Wooooong.
“Huh? Is it growing?”
“What is that…? Am I seeing things?”
Both warriors and villagers rubbed their eyes again and again.
They vaguely knew of the power, but they did not know how to control it.
At most, they used it to reinforce the body or release it crudely.
What they were seeing for the first time—the manipulation of materialized power—was a devastating shock.
“Magic…?”
Felicia murmured and swung her sword.
At the same time, the energy bursting from the blade sliced through the air. A cutting edge so sharp it seemed capable of splitting bone and human flesh with a mere graze.
Then they understood.
“Does this look like magic to you?”
“……”
“……”
The warriors lowered their heads in silence. It was a mixture of reverence for a level never before seen and shame at not having recognized it.
Gormsen, who had been the first to accuse Felicia of using magic, lost the strength in his legs and collapsed to the ground.
But the one who took the greatest blow was not Gormsen, but the chief himself, Ivar.
‘Damn it… of all times, now…’
If only Gormsen had accused Felicia, he could have excused the situation by saying he was testing her reaction.
But Gormsen had sought his approval, and Ivar had joined in that accusation without hesitation.
Now it was clear that even Ivar, chief and strongest warrior of the tribe, was inferior to Felicia.
“Since no one is answering, I’ll ask the chief.”
Felicia swept her gaze over the warriors and then looked at Ivar. With a faint, mocking grimace, she asked,
“Is this magic?”
“…It is not.”
Though Ivar’s face burned with shame, he could not deny it. It was obvious to anyone that this was the power of a warrior.
After hearing the answer, Felicia withdrew her energy and said,
“Next.”
The tribe’s gazes turned to the chief’s sons. Amid the expectant eyes, Ainar stepped forward.
“I will not challenge you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I will not send my subordinates to certain death for empty pride. You are, without a doubt, the strongest warrior. Forgive my foolishness for failing to recognize a true warrior, blinded by prejudice over your gender.”
Ainar knelt and pressed his forehead to the ground.
It was a humiliating posture, but no one criticized him.
The level Felicia had shown was so high that nothing like it had ever existed in the history of the tundra.
“I also withdraw. Challenging a warrior whom no one in the tundra can face would only turn us into offerings.”
Brunda also knelt beside Ainar.
With both of them out, only Gormsen remained.
Still seated on the ground, unable to stand, Gormsen clenched his teeth under everyone’s gaze.
‘If I withdraw now, my honor will be shattered.’
His uncle had died, and he had accused Felicia of using magic.
Unlike the other two, he had already created an irreparable grudge.
Withdrawing now would mean becoming the laughingstock of the entire tribe.
“Rodbruk!”
Unable to abandon his pride, Gormsen sprang to his feet and called another warrior.
The named warrior shuddered for a moment, but advanced with determination.
Felicia watched him calmly.
“Are you next?”
“Seems so.”
“Come.”
There was no signal from the chief to begin the duel.
As soon as he answered Felicia’s brief call, he launched his attack.
Even if he died, he would die showing the pride of a warrior.
With that resolve, Rodbruk brought down the enormous sword he wielded with all his strength.
Slash!
Before the massive sword touched the ground, Rodbruk’s body had already been split in two, from head to groin.
The great sword flew away, rolled across the ground, and ended up buried in a pile of snow.
Felicia steadied her sword—no one knew when she had swung it—and said again,
“Next?”
“Torving!”
Gormsen’s voice, as he called the third warrior, sounded more like a desperate scream than an order.
The called warrior looked at his lord with a sorrowful expression and then charged bravely at Felicia.
And like his predecessor, he died in an instant.
“Next?”
“Yorvik…!”
Gormsen called the fourth warrior with a voice that seemed torn from his throat.
After the fourth came the fifth; after the fifth, the sixth.
All obeyed their lord’s senseless command and died facing Felicia.
When the blood of the corpses dyed all the surrounding snow red, Gormsen had no warriors left to call.
“Next?”
“……”
Gormsen stared blankly at the bodies scattered across the ground.
Rollo, Ketil, Floki, Halfdan, Horik.
Of the companions with whom he had crossed the frozen wasteland, not one remained alive.
With his mind empty, as if his soul had a hole in it, he heard Felicia’s voice once more.
“Next?”
At Felicia’s insistence, Gormsen was unable to react.
From the beginning, the trial was about demonstrating the strength of one’s subordinates.
Now that all of his were dead, it was clear he had failed.
However, Felicia kept repeating the same thing, as if she were completely unaware of that rule.
“Who’s next?”
“Enough! The trial is over!”
Ivar’s roar finally burst forth.
It was a warning—for her to stop and stand down.
Felicia looked at Ivar for a moment, who was glaring at her with fury, and repeated,
“Who’s next?”
“Damn it…!”
Just as Ivar was about to explode in rage, Gormsen—half out of his mind—grabbed his sword and stepped forward.
“Gormsen! What are you doing now?!”
“……”
Ivar shouted, shocked by his son’s sudden action, but Gormsen remained unmoving, as if he hadn’t heard him.
Felicia pointed her sword at him and asked,
“Do you have anything to say before you die?”
“No.”
“Come.”
As soon as that short exchange ended, Gormsen pushed off the ground and swung his sword—just like all the warriors he had sent before him.
As if he wanted to share the same fate as his comrades, as a final act of atonement.
Slash!
“Urgh…!”
Felicia’s sword grazed Gormsen’s neck, and a muffled groan escaped his throat.
Instinctively, he clutched at his neck, but he couldn’t stop the blood pouring out like a waterfall.
Panting, Gormsen looked between Felicia and Lucian, and gave a bitter smile.
“Hh…”
With a sound like air escaping from crushed lungs, Gormsen’s body collapsed to the ground.
He didn’t die as quickly as his warriors, but his corpse remained intact.
Once Gormsen was dead, Felicia returned to Lucian and knelt as if she had just finished a routine task.
“My lord, I have eliminated the enemy and returned.”
“Well done.”
Lucian praised her and helped her to her feet with his own hands.
While the members of the tribe watched the scene in shock, a solemn voice rose from behind.
“From beyond the frozen waste, a foreign sovereign shall arrive. In the year when the sun changes, he shall gain the right to challenge the heavens. He shall conquer all in this land and lead the way to glory and peace. He shall be our king.”
At the sound of such a familiar prophecy, the people turned their heads in surprise.
Marius, who had been out of sight until then, walked among them.
Cutting through the crowd, he knelt before Lucian and said,
“My king.”
That was all it took.
A woman who had reached a supreme level never before attained by any warrior of the waste.
If such a being served someone—what kind of existence must her lord be?
With the Guide’s prophecy adding to it, many even thought they saw a halo of light behind Lucian.
“My king!”
“King of the frozen waste!”
“Our king!”
Unlike before, when there had been doubt, the members of the tribe bowed down like a crashing wave and cried out to Lucian.
It was as if they had completely forgotten that this was only the first trial to select a new chief—and that they still had one.
Watching the scene unfold, Ivar didn’t even declare the trial over. He simply turned around and walked into his residence.
The sound of the door slamming shut was buried beneath the deafening cheers.
***
Amidst the cheers, Lucian’s group moved to Marius’s residence.
Marius had stopped Lucian, saying he had something to tell him.
“Poor fool.”
He sighed, murmuring those words.
There was no need to ask who he meant.
“Even though it might not seem like it now, he once went around fighting, saying he’d become a great warrior. But at some point, he started favoring schemes. I guess he got addicted to easy gain.”
“Hmm.”
“Even so, his old comrades trusted him. They believed he’d only strayed a little, and that someday he’d remember his former pride. In the end, he did… though it means nothing if you remember after losing everything.”
Only then did Lucian’s group understand why the warriors had been so loyal to him.
He wasn’t just a cunning schemer; he had once possessed honor.
Lucian remained silent, not reacting.
Marius continued.
“By the way, that was impressive. They said she was a disciple of a Swordmaster, but she exceeded my expectations. You’ve turned all the common sense of the frozen waste on its head. Do you know what the tribe is calling her now?”
“Elder.”
Lucian spoke calmly, cutting him off.
“That’s enough. I no longer need you.”
____
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